Kneading Knots
by Copper Oxide
Summary: Lightweight boxer newcomer and recent victor Blaine Anderson goes for a celebratory post-victory massage and irrational sex ensues. The usual, really.


Title: Kneading Knots

Author:

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Kurt Hummel/ Blaine Anderson

Genre: AU, smut

Warnings: none

Spoilers: none

Word Count: 4,979 words

Summary: Lightweight boxer newcomer and recent victor Blaine Anderson goes for a celebratory post-victory massage and irrational sex ensues. The usual, really.

**A/N: **I've been dead for a long time now, the better half of a year, and the explanation for why can be found on my tumblr, which is .com. Updates on the writing status of my other two stories are also on there. My most sincere apologies for my unannounced departure but I have nothing but guilt on my shoulders and only the excuse of life getting in the way in my arsenal. Sorry to have kept some of you dangling.

Recently though, I'd forced myself to have a break, and inspiration kicked in right about the end of the olympic games. So have this shakily-written little fic (I'm afraid I might've gotten rusty over my absence) and please do tell me what you think, whether it be positive or negative. Any feedback is welcome.

love always, xx

* * *

Kneading Knots - An Olympics!Klaine AU

Olympic Lightweight Boxer Representative of the United States of America, Blaine Anderson, was in considerable pain.

He'd made it to the Men's Light Finals, but at a cost. On the drive back to the village, he sat groaning in the back seat, sore like never before after a long, intense match against Korea for the spot in the semis.

Han was bulky for a lightweight boxer, and a fair bit taller than Blaine, but his height and speed were an advantage in the otherwise even match. Where Han was brute force and aggression, Blaine was agility and light-footedness. The problem, however, was that more often than not, Han's force was driven by enough speed to be a problem for Blaine and that was when he'd have to take hits. These hits were nothing to shrug off, either, because Han never pulled his punches and they left him gasping behind his raised forearms.

Blaine, however, fought his sore muscles and strains and held on. His endurance and strategy was what ultimately allowed him to win, if only by a hair. His disciplined body had trained itself to withstand Han's game strategy, which was to begin immediately on heavy offense and to prolong that as long as his physiology would allow- but no matter how fit, a boxer cannot maintain that sort of concentrated attack forever. Blaine waited, waited for his frenzied offense to grant him opportunity, before he begun his barrage. On one of Han's frantic lunges, Blaine found an opening and hooked him hard in the ribs, sending him stumbling off balance, further facilitating Blaine's turn at offense. With unwavering focus, he delivered a series of smartly placed and timed hits that were quick, relentless and powerful, constantly moving his body so that Han would never have time to orient his weaknesses. Blaine felt bruised and battered after waiting out Han's attack, but the adrenalin pumping in his veins and his muscles still feeling fresh gave him the upper hand. Han may have landed some heavy hits where Blaine was unable to defend, but now Blaine was giving him a consistent pummeling that should be more effective than one or two stronger strikes. Blaine, though small, had trained himself to take hits. He was sturdy and knew how to minimize his damages.

Han was clearly unsettled by Blaine's unexpected comeback, thinking that his earlier defense had been out of necessity from Han's own assault. It had been, to some extent, but Han did not expect Blaine to be so durable. He'd assumed that, because of his size, that this strategy would have taken him down quite easily.

Blaine Anderson, however, had his cards hidden. Though he was a lightweight boxer, he'd been taught several disciplines of heavyweight boxing, and many of those defense principles required him to be a rock. He'd been told by his coach that his size was a handicap, and that in order for him to make it to the Olympics, he'd have to embrace his weakness and work around it. The result of that was an intensive spiritual and physical course that taught him how to sustain under stress, how to turn his weakness into strength. His primary disability had now become his wildcard- this man of unassuming height tricked others into seeing a 'weakness', where he actually had learnt his strength. The assumptions made by his opponents were often his biggest weapon- to underestimate one's opponent is to let your guard down, and Blaine was thankful for much of the athletic arrogance he'd encountered over the years. They'd allowed him to earn his name as one of America's best fighters.

Equally, this taught Blaine to never underestimate his opponents either. Although, it was quite impossible to underestimate Han- he was an olympic veteran and a veritable legend in boxing history, not to mention a man of impressive stature and skill. Blaine, an olympic newcomer making his debut at the games, had shocked everyone by climbing the ranks so quickly and having made it to the point where he'd had to fight some of the world's most seasoned boxers- and won. Han had been his most difficult fight yet- few other boxers matched him in tenacity, strength and speed. There were plenty of reasons why Han was at the top of the ranks, and they were clearly shown when he fought. Blaine had no delusions about who he was fighting- one of the best. Fighting the best, it seemed, left you with screaming muscles.

"Mark," he groaned to his coach riding shotgun, "can you schedule me a massage at the spa in like, half an hour?"

"I'm your coach, not your bitch." Mark snapped back, but relented when he saw the look Blaine was giving him sprawled on the backseat of the car like a starfish. It was a look that could only be described as puppy-like. "Fine. Fine, but only because you made it to the finals."

Blaine smiled at him in thanks and slipped his eyes closed again, tired but still pumping with the excitement of the win. He's going to go back to the village, have a nice shower, hop over to the village facilities building, and then wallow in his victory, because he damn well deserves to.

Team America, thankfully, was allocated apartments in the building closest to the fac building, so the gym, spa and rec rooms were all within 5 minutes of walking time. After a quick shower, Blaine is now sitting contentedly in a fluffy white robe on top a massage bed, waiting for his masseuse to arrive. He swings his feet and hums a little as he waits, smiling at the sight of his neatly pedicured toes. The last time he was here he got a discreet pedicure and they did a really nice job.

He's in the middle of wiggling his pretty toes when a man swings the door of the room open. He immediately stops his toe-wiggling (because he's a serious macho boxer athlete MAN) and straightens up and turns, wincing at the soreness in his back as he does so. He's met with quite possibly the prettiest man he's ever laid his eyes on.

"Hello," the man says, and was that a drawl? He sets the tray in his hands down, the various glass bottles of oil clinking. "You must be Blaine Anderson."

Blaine currently lives in a village full of sculpted, beautiful-bodied athletes that have trained and maintained their muscular, lean physiques their whole lives. In the throngs of comic-book-hero hunks, he has yet to feel attraction to this extent. His masseuse is gorgeous.

The man- English, of course- is tall, pale in coloration and gorgeous is everything else. He's got a regulation polo shirt hugging his slim torso and toned arms and an equally huggy pair of regulation sweats. He's nothing at all like Blaine's short, stacked stature. His legs feel shorter than ever dangling off of the bed he's sitting on, and after a glance at the man's never-ending span of legs, he's feeling rather insecure.

He realises he's been silent since the greeting and stumbles to maintain a semblance of social normalcy.

"B-Blaine! Hi, yes, I'm Blaine, hi."

Growing up, Blaine spent a lot of time in the gym and in the ring. He didn't have a lot of time for friends, let alone dating, and barely even for sex. Something had to give.

"I'm Kurt, I'll be your masseuse for today." the man says, smiling easily. "You can just lie down on the bed, love, while I get the candles ready."

The pet name makes Blaine thrill a little, but he quickly pushes down the feeling when he remembers the commonness of the term in these parts. Instead, he kind of awkwardly toys with the belt of his robe when he realises he's going to be butt-fucking-naked in front of this very, very handsome young man. He wonders how his sexually-depraved self is going to stave off a raging boner in the presence of a good-looking stranger.

"Are you decent?" Kurt asks a couple moments later, having lit most of the aroma-therapeutic candles. They give off a relaxing, light smell of lavender. Blaine articulately responds with an "um", prompting Kurt to glance over his shoulder to see Blaine still in his robe, belt half-undone, and fumbling nervously.

"Oh sweetheart, don't be nervous. I'm here to help you relax."

Blaine mouth twitches a little at the pet name before scolding himself on the inside again. He laughs rather unconvincingly, feeling a bit of embarrassment showing itself on his cheeks and avoiding direct eye contact because he thinks they might be a really pretty, nuanced hue of cerulean.

"I- I supposed I'm just not used to it." he says, finally pulling the knot loose.

"...I can get one of the female masseuses to do it, if you're uncomfortable." Kurt says, taking note of Blaine's obvious nerves.

"NO!" He virtually shouts, making Kurt flinch a little. "No, you're fine. You're good. I mean, no, you'll be fine."

Blaine just wants to bash his own head in at this point. He's always been a bumbling idiot around hot guys. Always.

Kurt seems to perk up a little at his blatant clumsiness, laughing an adorable, tinkly little laugh that Blaine can't help but smile at. "Alright, if you're sure."

"Y-Yeah."

Kurt gives him a bit of a searching look before something seems to settle in his eyes.

"I've... got to get a couple things from the store room. You just take off that robe-" he gestures to the garment, "-and lie on your stomach. I'll just be a minute."

With soundless steps he leaves the room, leaving Blaine alone and breathing out a breath he was unaware he'd been holding. He'd just made a fool of himself and Kurt probably thought he was some stupid teenage athlete (despite being in his mid-twenties, Blaine was a small man and with a close shave, he could definitely pass for 18.) Mortified, Blaine quickly strips, chucks the robe over onto the row of hooks and lies as instructed on the bed, resting on his elbows. He realises after he's laid down that he had nothing to cover his very bare ass with.

Blaine is suddenly very aware of how unaware he is of the length of time that has passed. Did Kurt really mean a minute? He could risk getting up and reaching for the robe so that he can drape something over his ass, Kurt did say 'decent', didn't he? Though, in doing that, he could very well risk Kurt walking in right as he got up, effectively revealing his frontal nether regions and that would be even worse than just his ass. But lying there, face down, ass up, just doesn't sit well with Blaine. He decides he's fast enough to make it.

Unfortunately, the gods seemed to frown upon him today (besides his epic win, that is), as he never even made it back to the bed. Kurt walks in right as he takes the robe off the hook, allowing him a split second to thrust the robe over his nether regions and avoiding the full frontal. Either way, there's no missing the gape of Kurt's jaw as he almost drops the folded towels in his hands.

"Oh god, I uh- I'm sorry, I laid down but I had nothing to cover my, uh- my butt with, so I figured I could use ah, the robe. Sorry."

Blaine's eyebrows rise to see Kurt a little more flustered than he was a minute ago. "O-Oh, no, it's my fault I- left the towels behind. You should- you should lie down now."

Blaine awkwardly scuttles a little towards the bed before turning around abruptly- to see Kurt's eyes directed where Blaine's eyes were most certainly not, and that was interesting- to ask for a towel to make himself decent with.

"Oh, shit, yes, sorry," Kurt says, handing Blaine a towel and turning away immediately. The flush in Blaine's cheeks had crawled down his neck- he could feel it- as he drops the robe, clambers onto the bed and throwing the towel onto his ass. At least now, Kurt wouldn't be able to see it. He breathes a little sigh of relief when his face is finally slotted into the hole on the pillow ring at the end of the bed. That was a lot of stress for a preparation for a relaxing massage.

"I'm going to use a mixture of grape seed oil, sweet almond oil and olive oil for today. Your coach tells me you've got very sore muscles?" Kurt asks, voice level and professional once more.

"Yeah, I um, had a match, just now."

He hears the roll of tray wheels and suddenly sees feet appear underneath him.

"A boxer, are you?"

"Lightweight, yeah."

Kurt hums in response.

"This combination's especially effective for soothing muscle pain, very popular with athletes." he says. "Now I want you to close your eyes, breathe deep-" he does, "and relax."

Kurt's hands are slick with oils as he works them into the tense muscles of Blaine's incredibly sturdy back. He gazes appreciatively as his skilled hands work over gorgeous olive valleys of toned, strong muscle and broad back. He'd given many a massage over the past weeks as part of the Olympic Village Spa's core team, but he'd never seen a client get so nervous about it. He smiles a little as he works on a tight knot in Blaine's lower back, tenderly running his hands down the contour of his body and back up. He works systematically, usually, but this time, his hands follow where his eyes scour, and that is everywhere.

Blaine the Boxer has a quite understandably drop-dead gorgeous body. It is literally sculpted like a greek Adonis and toned to golden perfection. Of course, that body is attached to a rather adorable human being who also has a drop-dead gorgeous face, but right now with his entire backside splayed out in front of Kurt, it's hard not to take a couple moments to openly appreciate this finer specimen of human being.

It's difficult enough to focus on working on his back as it is, with the tempting, hidden curve of his ass just out of reach of his fingertips. It rises quite high and Kurt is almost dying to see whether it is as pert as it seems to be.

A little moan splits into the previous silence and Kurt's attention is brought away from his covered bottom and back to Blaine's upper half. It was barely noticeable but it was definitely a moan, a moan of pleasure, he hopes, and it was guttural, unrestrained, and very, very arousing. Kurt digs his fingers a little deeper, rubbing a little harder as he tries to elicit a similar response. On a particularly tender stroke, Kurt hears a muffled noise of failed repression, and smiles.

Kurt can't see him right now, which he's thankful for because he's cringing. So. Hard.

He couldn't have stopped that moan from leaving his lips even if he tried- it came out of nowhere. But Kurt's hands- his soft, strong, supple hands- were drawing out these feelings of utter bliss and tapping into realms of released tension he'd never before known. He felt so good, so pliant, so utterly at the mercy of this man that was milking the strain away from his muscles and replacing them with nothing but relief.

The pleasure was almost becoming unbearable. The skin on his back prickled with sensitivity, suddenly aware of each swipe of fingertips, slicked with aromatic oils and attached to someone beautiful. On a broad stroke downwards, large hands felt over the sensitive skin on his sides, and he involuntarily tensed. A voice swooped down close to the nape of his neck and shhhed him gently, coaxing the tension away in small circular movements with his thumbs in a particular sore spot near his back dimples. Blaine breathed deep, sighing shakily as the tension melted away, yet again.

The more relaxed he became, the harder it was to stop himself from moaning. There just seemed to be a network of motor nerves attached from his muscles to his throat because the he couldn't control any of it at all. Moans, whimpers, gasps of all sorts were being choked in his throat- quite literally.

"It's okay to make noise, love. I certainly don't mind." Kurt chuckles while he keeps working his wonderful, wonderful hands into Blaine's back. He gives a final parting knead into his shoulders before moving down to his legs. "I'm going to work on your legs now."

Kurt works his legs as thoroughly as he did his back, forcing the rigidness out of his stiff calves and ankles and Blaine is left panting as he works his thumb hard into the arch of his foot, making him squirm with how good it feels and how talented Kurt's hands are.

By the time Kurt reaches the backs of his thighs, Blaine can feel the resistance that hadn't been there before between him and the bed. It was painful pressing his arousal into the bed, but Kurt's nimble hands were traveling further and further up his thick, corded thighs and the little moans were fighting their way back up his throat. This was, if anything, an extremely compromising situation.

Soft hands glided up the insides of his thighs, lightly stroking, and Blaine released a broken cry.

He doesn't see Kurt's wide smirk and glint of mischief in his eyes when he bends down close to Blaine's head again and asked whether or not he wanted his ass massaged, too, in an unhelpfully low voice.

Blaine barely got his mumble of 'yes' out of his mouth before Kurt had whipped the towel off and making him clench instinctively as his ass is suddenly exposed.

"Oh, well then."

Blaine gulped, unsure of what to say, having his bare ass being appreciated so openly.

"You have... an incredible body, Blaine."

A shaky laugh made its way out of his throat as he thanked him awkwardly, the flush on his cheeks raging on. It's not as if he's not used to people telling him this- he was, after all, an olympian athlete- but never had it come from a mouth so pretty.

And then his hands were on his ass and they were cupping each cheek softly, as if only to touch, and Blaine was finding it increasingly difficult to stop making these embarrassing noises because holy hell, he did not expect to enjoy this massage as much as he is right now.

Those reverent hands then began to knead, and Blaine just couldn't handle it. He moaned, loud and long, feeling himself tense at way Kurt was making him feel, bucking his hips a little into the bed as Kurt kept working his long, lean fingers.

"Shh, relax, relax... I'll make you feel good, don't worry." Kurt says, voice mellow, grin dirty as ever. Of course, Blaine saw nothing of that, as well as the stirring in Kurt's regulation sweats at the sight of the delicious man squirming on the bed from the pleasure Kurt's hands were causing him.

A cheeky finger swiped down the center of Blaine, making him gasp and buck again, before the hands left him completely. He breathed out loudly, somewhat relieved but also quite severely missing those wonderfully soft, strong hands on him.

"How do you feel?" Kurt asks, covering his ass with a towel again.

"So good."

Kurt hums, pleased, but far from satisfied.

"Turn over for me, sweetheart. I've got to do your front now."

Blaine's completely forgotten that about that part. He's also sporting a raging boner and was looking forward to running to the changing rooms to jack off to images of a certain blue-eyed brunette because being this hard hurt.

When Kurt turns around, oils in hand, he sees Blaine still lying on his front and looking very conflicted indeed.

"Is there a problem, love?"

Ah, there are the pet names again. "I..." Blaine starts, unsure of how he wants phrase the way in which he mortifies himself to oblivion.

"You're so good with your hands that I have... I mean, I got... aroused, and I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything-"

Kurt's giggle of mirth stops him from talking down at the floor and he looks up to see Kurt smiling at him. He almost looks fond, but at the moment, he's making Blaine feel very insecure.

"You've nothing to be ashamed of, it happens to clients all the time. The masseuses here are that good, you know." he says.

"I'm sorry," Blaine apologizes. "It must be awful having to deal with-" he gestures ungainly to his lower half, "all this."

"Oh, it's not so bad. Flattering, even, especially when they're cute."

So Kurt was most definitely hitting on him. This is... wonderful. Yes. Awesome. Swell.

He still has a boner.

"I don't mind if you don't?" Kurt asks. "I'd imagine your pecs would need a good rub down if you're a boxer."

And he just got a little harder, yup.

He doesn't trust his tongue at the moment so he just shakes his head stupidly before taking a deep breath and turning himself over.

The towel makes a ridiculously obvious tent over his dick and he groans in open mortification, covering his face at more of Kurt's adorable giggling directed at him.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart." Kurt says, lathering his hands in oil. "...nothing to be ashamed of at all, mmm."

The way Kurt was working over his pecs couldn't be classified as anything other than sinful. They worked steadily into the sore muscles, up to his taut shoulders and back down, skimming over his nipples and then back into the pecs themselves. Nothing holds him back now as he openly groans his appreciation, entire body utterly at rest, feeling blissful as ever under Kurt's fingertips. This is the most sensual experience of his life and it feels like every fibre in his body is thrumming.

Fingertips run up to this face, caressing his cheeks and circling his temples softly. He opens his eyes slowly, half-lidded with pleasure, to see Kurt's blue eyes gazing back at his.

"Mmhm, Kurt."

"Yes?"

"This is the best thing. ever."

A smirk. "I try."

A moment passes before the air stands still, and suddenly Blaine is aware of how he couldn't even dream to pull his eyes away from those blue irises so mesmerizing first. Kurt seems to have a similar notion in his mind, his azure meeting Blaine's honey-brown, unwilling to look away. Breaths stop as he realises Blaine is raising his head, slowly, inquisitively, before he ducks his head and meets him halfway.

Let it be known that Kurt Hummel is a professional, mind you, and that this is just the one exception. Just the one.

Their lips, met upside down and a little awkward, still slide easily over each other as they both feel the tingles spread from their lips to deep down in their guts. Kurt's hands move back down to Blaine's pecs as the kiss deepens, lips giving way to sweet, sweet tongue and jolting the both of them as they are met with the unfamiliar but extremely welcome taste of each other.

Their slick mouths part moments later as both men gasp for breath, taking into account what just happened.

They speak almost simultaneously-

"I never do this-"

"I'm not usually so-"

-both cutting off abruptly and insisting the other continue. Blaine, a gentleman born and bred, wins.

Kurt circles back around to face him properly, looking a little shyer than his previously mischievous grin suggested earlier. He smiles at Blaine, looking a little sheepish, before wringing his oiled hands together.

"I've never... done that, with a client before. I promise." Kurt laughs, nervous. "I don't want you thinking that I try to seduce all the athletes that come in here."

"Only the cute ones?" Blaine quips, diffusing the tension. Kurt whacks him on the pec, laughing.

"Cocky Americans."

"You said it!"

"Mmm, true." Kurt says, bravely ducking and planting another kiss on Blaine's smiling lips. When Kurt pulls away, Blaine follows eagerly, almost falling off of the bed in the process.

"For the record, I don't... I don't go around kissing all my masseuses either." he winces as he hears himself in his head. He most certainly does not have a way with words. "I don't.. go around kissing everyone, I mean."

"That's... that's good."

Hell, fuck it. He's virtually naked and Kurt is the most beautiful man he's even seen.

"Can we kiss again, please?"

"How old are you, twelve?" Kurt teases, rolling his eyes. Regardless, he leans back in, and Blaine makes a happy noise.

The more they kiss, however, the more Blaine becomes aware of his problem under the towel, and when Kurt's arm brushes it as he reaches over, Blaine makes a strangled little noise and all of a sudden, Kurt becomes aware of it again too.

In a pulse of temptation, Kurt pulls away from Blaine's mouth with a lewd smack and rests his head against Blaine's, the two of them sharing air as they both fill their deprived lungs.

"Do you... do you want me to..."

Blaine's eyes grow wide as he realises what Kurt is asking. It'd be awfully adorable if Kurt wasn't so aroused himself.

"You.. you absolutely don't have to, but-"

"but-"

"-if you want to-"

"God, I want to-"

"-yeah, yeah okay-"

Their lips seal over each other again as Kurt's tongue pushes back into Blaine's mouth, kissing him fervently as he runs a hand down Blaine's chiseled chest, feeling the indent of each abdominal and the sparse hair covering his chest. He reaches the towel, almost completely off from their kissing, and stops for only a minute before Blaine reaches a hand down to tug it off for him. Blaine holds his breath as Kurt's dilated pupils turn to look.

Kurt's hand, still slick with oil, grips him loosely and pumps experimentally up the (Blaine admits, rather impressive) length. Blaine's eyes slip closed at the sensation, the soft feel of Kurt's palms where he's most intimate, and groans at the overwhelming feeling.

Kurt bites his lip as he watches Blaine come undone under his touch, gaining more confidence and gripping a little tighter, moving a little faster. He swipes his thumb over the head of his cock and twists his wrist on the downstroke, applying a thorough pressure around his entire length. The bolder Kurt gets with his ministrations, the hotter the sounds that escape from Blaine's plush mouth. On a particularly slick stroke upward, Blaine's hips jerk up and he moans gutturally, and Kurt has to kiss him then. He muffles his own moans against his lips as Blaine whimpers against him, his hips moving upwards to meet Kurt's eager hand.

Kurt moves his hand even faster now as Blaine's pitch rises, desperate to get him off. Blaine grips his arm, voicing incoherent noises, as his hips begin meeting Kurt's fist in quick thrusts. Kurt pulls off of him again to see the flex of his abs as he works himself into Kurt's hand, the exertion making him pant and raising his hips high up off of the massage bed. Kurt latches his lips onto Blaine's neck, still covered in a sheen of sweet rubbing oil, murmuring encouragements into his ear and feeling Blaine shudder. He mouths at his adam's apple, dragging his lips back up to his jaw and up his ear, never stopping the quick, tight pump of his fist over Blaine's cock.

Blaine's mumbling his name now, high and broken-sounding, nudging his face back onto his as he searches Kurt's mouth with his own. The kiss is messy and open-mouthed, but he doesn't care, he doesn't care when he's so close and he can feel the rush coming, starting at the base of his gut and crashing over him like waves, knocking him out over and over as he comes over Kurt's grip and all over himself, hips held high.

Kurt strokes him through it until he squirms of sensitivity. Kurt's panting too, gazing down at Blaine, flushed and covered in his own come. Blaine's still finding difficulty in breathing normally, mind totally fried at the intensity of the orgasm. Once the last sparks of pleasure leave his being and leave him only blissed out and very, very happy does he reach a limp hand up to Kurt's cheek, urging him down for another kiss. It's lazy, sweet, and just a little dirty.

"Thank you. God-" kiss, "-thank-" kiss, "-you."

"It was my pleasure." Kurt smiles, grabbing the towel to wipe Blaine's come off of his own hand before moving to wipe up the mess on Blaine's gorgeously sculpted abs.

Even in his post-orgasm haze, it's difficult for Blaine to miss the very prominent bulge in Kurt's extremely revealing sweats.

"Can I-"

"You don't have to-"

Blaine thinks of something even better.

"When.. when do you get off?"

Kurt smirks at him filthily as Blaine laughs, swatting his arm at the lame joke. "no, seriously-"

"You were my last appointment for today."

Perfect.

"Do you- do you maybe wanna go back to my room and, uh, try out those olympics-themed condoms they gave us?"

Kurt's eyes crease as he tries not to laugh at Blaine's incredibly cute but awkwardly propositioned intention.

Blaine notices his suppressed laughter and hangs his head low, cursing his ineptitude with boys, but Kurt just kisses his hair and holds his hand out.

"I'd love to."


End file.
